


Of Perception

by AdelineAround



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Achilles calls Patroclus and Zagreus sir, Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Biting, Canon Compliant, Consensual Sex, Crying During Sex, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Post-Coital Cuddling, Praise Kink, Rimming, Spanking, Spitroasting, Subspace, Teasing, Top Zagreus, bottom achilles, top patroclus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29944860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelineAround/pseuds/AdelineAround
Summary: “Achilles needs moments of reprieve, sometimes,” Patroclus says.“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”In which Zagreus tries his hand at pleasuring Achilles. It is a good thing Patroclus is there to help both of his lovers.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 78





	Of Perception

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cryogenia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryogenia/gifts).



> Guhdong has some of the best ideas, and I am honored to have written one of them with Dr. Guhdong's direction. This is my first PatZagchilles, so I hope you enjoy nonetheless.

Zagreus notices it somewhat after their first few times coming together.

He sees the way both his partners seem to become enthralled, infatuated with one another as they take turns ravishing and worshipping Zagreus’ body. Patroclus, for one, is usually composed, where Achilles is less so; driven by the passion of their lovemaking. But the way Patroclus looks at Achilles with those eyes and the bliss that crosses Achilles’ face when his lover tugs his golden curls ever so gently is something he takes note of.

That is not all, though. What Zagreus finds interesting is that Achilles, the great warrior Achilles, melts like snow under fire-stepping feet when Pat takes the dominant role during the trio’s intimate moments. Achilles looks beside himself when Patroclus guides him, tells him what to do to Zagreus, coaches and praises his lover when he makes Zagreus fall apart from pleasure. Afterwards, when they are done catching their breaths, Patroclus holds Achilles in his arms, nose pressed to his temple, with Zagreus against his warm back.

So then, it strikes curiosity in the Underworld prince’s mind, wondering what it would be like for him to lead Achilles like Patroclus does; to watch those beautiful, viridescent eyes glaze over in an indiscernible expression that draws his partners to him like a moth to a flame. Zagreus does not claim to understand everything that is happening in Achilles’ head within those moments, but he cannot deny how handsome he looks during.

“There is something on your mind, stranger.” Zagreus looks up from the invisible pattern he is tracing along Patroclus’ umber skin. They are in his Elysian chamber, laying in the grass after an extended session of touching and nipping and exploring.

“Well, sir...” Zagreus begins, but he does not know where to start, and he stumbles on what is flooding his brain.

Patroclus sighs, but he does not prod for the prince to continue. He waits patiently for Zagreus to resume.

Finding his bearings, Zagreus continues to speak his thoughts, “I was just thinking about Achilles, sir.”

“Don’t we all,” snorts Patroclus, as if he is referring to an inside joke. Perhaps it is, but it is one far too old for Zagreus to have knowledge about. “Go on. What about Achilles are you thinking about?”

Zagreus, though he does not _need_ to breathe, does anyway, inhaling before explaining, “I’ve been thinking about the way you treat Achilles…”

“Treat him? Treat him like what? He is practically half my soul.” Patroclus raises his eyebrows in amusement.

“Oh, no, I’m not suggesting you treat him _badly_ , sir.” Zagreus holds his hands up in surrender until Patroclus relaxes. “What I meant to say is that I’ve noticed the way you treat him in bed.”

A pause. Patroclus’ brown eyes bore into Zagreus’ mismatched ones for a second. Then, the faintest of a smirk graces the man’s lips. “Ah, I see,” he finally breaks the silence. “So you have.” Zagreus is about to open his mouth and blabber on, but Patroclus seems to know his question. “Achilles needs moments of reprieve, sometimes,” he says.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Do you not? You are very much similar to him, in some ways. He likes to submit. He likes to serve.” Patroclus drags a knuckle down the prince’s throat, along his collarbones. Zagreus shivers at the touch. “Achilles will never tell you himself, but when I hold him tight, when I command him to obey, leave reminders on his seemingly unmarrable skin, it gives him a chance to stop running away from memories and start reveling in the now of things. Do you understand what I am saying, prince?”

“O-oh.” It takes much of Zagreus’ strength not to become aroused again. “I think I do.”

Patroclus chuckles at him, and decides to give the prince some respite, opting to keep a loose hold on the nape of his neck. “Then, I must tell you he takes kindly to impact, but I suppose this does not bother you.”

Zagreus shakes his head. “Meg and I have been plenty involved in that, sir.”

“Then you know at least the basics of what it would require to please Achilles, correct?” Patroclus holds his eyes with Zagreus once more, so intense that Zagreus can barely respond.

He clears his throat as heat rises to his cheeks. “I suppose. Meg says I’m not early as good as her, but I’m not bad.”

“No one is as good as Megaera, so I hear.” Patroclus rolls his eyes. “But if she claims you are not bad at such play, then I would surmise that you are good, in non-Fury standards.”

Zagreus shifts closer to Patroclus and tries to resist hiding his face in Pat’s shoulder. “Thank you, sir.”

“Now imagine Achilles thanking you in that way,” Patroclus suggests.

And Zagreus does; he imagines Achilles’ tone of voice, his soft timber and lilt as he thanks both his lovers, kneeling on the ground with his plush lips slightly open and swollen from previous activities. He squeezes his eyes shut and groans at the image. His cock, though already spent, twitches in earnest.

Patroclus laughs in response. “Now you know how I felt when Achilles came to me in the old days, concealing this side of him from everyone except me. We would steal moments in the night, in the darkness, when we were cautious of prying, judging eyes.”

“You don’t have to hide anymore, though,” Zagreus quips. “Not here in Elysium. No one would care here, I think. I certainly wouldn’t mind.”

Patroclus hums at that, whether in agreement or otherwise. After a while, he says, “Then I shall speak to Achilles when he is off-duty and you have hopefully made your way to the Temple of Styx.”

The prince nods. “Yes, please.”

“Be ready the next time we meet, prince.”

And with that, Patroclus kisses any other thoughts out of Zagreus’ mind.

* * *

He was not able to visit Achilles at the House, being dragged into the drama called Nyx’s and Ares’ correspondence with one another. That being said, he does not want to go into any more detail about it because, by the time he reached the warrior’s post, Achilles had already gone on break. He squishes down the slight disappointment with a reluctant shrug, and tends to the rest of his errands around the place before deeming himself ready for another security run.

It takes Zagreus a couple attempts to reach Patroclus’ glade again, but he does end up there eventually. 

Still sore from a blasted encounter with a few exalted greatshields, Zagreus meanders over the first bridge to Patroclus’ grounds in Elysium. He rubs the hurt from his biceps, thankful that he had stopped by a fountain to wash up and heal his wounds some chambers before.

Usually, the prince can hear remnants of Patroclus’ and Achilles’ conversation from the east entranceway of the chamber, but this time he is greeted with silence. That is peculiar, he thinks, because since reuniting the two Myrmidons, the pair has never ceased talking.

His ember-laden soles accidentally singe the ground around him as he bypasses the pottery located on the right of him, and it takes him a moment to regain focus and control of the flame dancing in his heels. His heart flutters nervously in his chest then when he hears a soft murmur carried by the sourceless breeze that flows through Elysium.

No, he realizes, that was not merely a murmur. It happens again, another sound similar to the first, and this time Zagreus is sure that that was a _moan_. He picks up the pace, legs moving faster as the pounding in his rib cage grows stronger.

“Blood and darkness.” He sprints towards Patroclus’ favored sitting spot.

There, amongst the lush greenery is Achilles, sprawled out and naked. Patroclus hovers before him, a large hand cupping the man’s cheek. A thumb slips between Achilles’ pink lips, and Zagreus’ breath hitches when he takes it into his mouth, sucking on Patroclus’ finger.

“Do not be a stranger, Zagreus,” Patroclus calls out to him then, acknowledging his presence in the glade.

“Last I thought I was still considered a ‘stranger’ by your definition.” The prince jokes about Patroclus’ nickname for him. He encroaches upon his lovers, already thrumming with energy.

Patroclus glares at him playfully. “You know what I mean,” he replies.

“Do not waste teasing him, my prince.” Achilles releases Patroclus’ thumb to turn his head towards Zagreus. “Not when you could be teasing me.”

Zagreus cannot look away as Achilles trails his hand down his own body, reaching between strong thighs that part when he grasps his growing cock. The warrior encircles himself around the base, stroking slowly to the tip. He tilts his chin, neck bared in a way that has Zagreus wanting to kiss him there; push him back and love him with each sinew of muscle in his anatomy. He practically dashes over, sidling up next to Achilles, with Patroclus on his other side.

“No,” he says defiantly. He puts his palm on top of Achilles to still his movements. “Let me.”

Achilles purses his lips together before Patroclus grins at him in affirmation, “Come now, my heart. Let the young prince take care of you,”

“Lad—” Achilles cries out when Zagreus brings both their hands down over the man’s length.

Oh gods, they are actually doing this, he thinks eagerly. Zagreus wills his voice not to shake, “Not quite, love. I can be your lad any other time, but for now…” He swallows. “For now you address both Pat and I as ‘sir’. Am I understood?”

It is not so much like a switch is turned somewhere in Achilles as it is a gradual ascent up a marble-carved staircase. Patroclus must have helped him along earlier, before Zagreus arrived. Achilles keens low in his throat, his eyes going half-lidded with unmistakable lust.

“Yes,” he answers simply.

“‘Yes’, what?” Patroclus pushes both Zagreus’ and Achilles’ hands away from the great warrior’s cock. “Answer Zagreus properly, Achilles.”

It takes a few seconds, but finally Achilles tries again, “Yes, sir.”

Zagreus can feel the blood in his body rush south, pooling in his groin as he swells beneath the confines of his garnet leggings and chiton. So this is what it feels like to be in this position, in this role. He is jittery with excitement and arousal, and it takes every fiber in his being to let up from Achilles so he can keep the momentum they have going.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Patroclus lean back on his elbows, waiting for Zagreus to take control. The prince sits back, legs folded in a cross-cross pattern. He pats his thigh, as he lets the words flow from his mouth, “Across my lap, now.”

“But…” Achilles trails off, his brain struggling to catch up with his body as he is already crawling towards Zagreus. He lays himself down, chest first.

It is the wrong angle. Zagreus twists awkwardly to get hold of Achilles’ hips, blunt nails digging into firm flesh, and _drags_ the man over his lap until Achilles’ ass is on display for both his lovers. He yelps in surprise, but does not dare move from his spot.

“Zagreus should discipline you for touching yourself without permission,” Patroclus explains. Zagreus releases Achilles’ hips to pet his backside. “Do you think you deserve it?”

Achilles nods into his arms, bent to stabilize himself on the ground. Zagreus traces the dimples on his lumbar, feeling the tiny tremor that runs through Achilles’ skin. The warrior shifts again, coccyx lifting into Zagreus’ caress.

“I deserve it, sir,” he mumbles. When Patroclus hums long and slow, but does not give confirmation that he heard him, Achilles says, “Please, Pat, Zag— sirs. Please, I deserve it, whatever you will give me.”

“What a good _lad_ ,” Zagreus barely registers that _he_ is the one cooing at Achilles, but his vocals are warm from talking. He kneads Achilles’ ass, eliciting a lewd whine from the man.

“What do you say, Zagreus?” Patroclus focuses his attention on the prince. “How many times does Achilles deserve to meet the strike of your palm?”

Zagreus’ dick throbs in his leggings. “Ten, maybe?” He decides to trail a finger over the seam of Achilles’ ass. “Perhaps twenty.”

“No! Not twenty!” Achilles lifts his head and mewls, “Please, sir, not twenty. I’ll do anything else other than twenty.”

He sounds so convincing, so genuine that he cannot handle twenty strikes, but Patroclus is too quick to let Achilles wiggle his way out of less than ten. “Fifteen, then. Not a strike more, not a strike less.”

Zagreus finds the courage within him to ask, “Can you handle fifteen strikes, love?” He taps Achilles’ ass lightly, testing the waters. He would never want to push Achilles more than necessary.

“Yes. Give me it,” Achilles says.

“I want you to count for me.” Zagreus massages Achilles’ left cheek, preparing him for what is to come. “If you stop any time before fifteen, Patroclus will be the one to finish this for me.”

Then…

The sound of Zagreus’ hand against Achilles’ ass rings loud and clear through the chamber, echoed by the warrior’s shrill cry of “one!”

Zagreus stifles a groan when he feels Achilles’ turgid member throb against his inner thigh. The man stiffens when Zagreus spanks him again (“Two,” he pants, and this time he asks for more.) with force, then slackens into the prince’s ministrations like fat dissolving on a hot cooking stone. His stomach quivers with the third slap, but his begging still clear, pronunciation precise as he takes the blow like a champion. Something deep inside Zagreus flares, and he lays four more strikes upon Achilles’ ass in rapid succession.

“Ah!” Achilles shouts, struggling to count to seven. Saltwater begins to pool at the corners of his viridescent eyes, leaking down his face when he takes the eighth one.

“Oh, my heart,” Patroclus grabs Zagreus’ wrist as a signal to pause. With his other hand, he smooths Achilles’ curls from his forehead, careful not to disturb the circlet that adorns him like a crown. “You are doing so well.”

“Pat,” Achilles whines, and Zagreus notices just how informal his speech has become compared to when Zagreus is the one being doted on. “Pat, I need…”

“What do you require, my Achilles?” Patroclus leans forward, “Tell us. Zagreus and I will always tend to you.”

Achilles sniffles. His voice is thick as he confesses, “I need more. Give me the rest of them.”

“The rest of them?” Zagreus’ digits move between Achilles’ cheeks then, earning a gasp from the man. “The rest of your punishment, you mean.”

“Yes, ye— oh.” Achilles moans when the prince finds his hole, clenching down on nothing when Zagreus teases it with a fingertip. He swirls it around the circumference of the man’s entrance, tracing the puckered rim. “Zagreus, sir…”

“All right,” Patroclus says. “Give him the last of his punishment, Zagreus.”

So, Zagreus does. In one fell swoop, he delivers the last of Achilles’ earned discipline. Achilles mewls and gasps with each one of them, counting in a voice so small that something in Zagreus’ chest clenches. He jerks a little with Achilles each time his palm lands on bare skin, now slapped as red as the river Styx. The cock digging into his leg is hard as steel, so blatant in showing the effect on Achilles. The man begins to rub against Zagreus as he receives his second to last blow across his aching buttocks, seemingly desperate for friction.

“Fifteen.” Achilles counts the last one obediently.

“Good boy,” Zagreus commends him. “You did wonderfully, Achilles.”

“Thank you, sir,” Achilles hiccups as Zagreus opts to pet him soothingly.

Patroclus lifts his partner off Zagreus’ lap to place him on the grass again, on all fours this time, and kisses Achilles gently on the lips before placing himself behind his lover. “My Achilles, you are perfect,” he breathes, motioning for Zagreus to come forward. He procures a bottle of oil from his cloak, unstops it. The cork is then placed somewhere to the side. “Look at you, bright red like a berry fruit. You are sure to bruise.” He is right; the ruddiness of Achilles’ shapely ass is already transforming into vibrant hues of buttercups and violets. He coats a few of his fingers in the viscous liquid, then hands the bottle to Zagreus. “Tell us. How do you want us?”

Zagreus slicks his hands in the oil, sniffing it gently. He recognizes the faint scent of pomegranates and something called sandalwood, an essential oil from the surface, infused in the liquid. He uses it to rub over Achilles’ defined calves and ankles like he would if they were in the baths. The caring gesture causes Achilles to spread his legs; to sigh in satisfaction.

“Like this, but,” Achilles stops to groan when Patroclus outlines the rim of his entrance with his finger. “I want Zagreus...”

“You want _me_ , how?” Zagreus’ blood pressure skyrockets at Achilles’ offer.

“Want you to fuck me, sir. With Patroclus sir in my mouth.” Achilles barely blinks, his eyes so unfocused as he rears his head towards Patroclus and Zagreus both.

Zagreus feels two things at once: the feeling of suffocating from the height of his arousal, and the way his cock stands to even more attention than it already is. He wants nothing more than to shed his clothing and rut against Achilles until he comes. But Patroclus is already slipping a finger inside Achilles, drawing out a long and sensual moan from the great warrior himself.

“We must prepare you then, my heart. Is that good?” Patroclus thrusts the digit in and out, transfixed. “You’re sucking my fingers in, beloved. You must be so hungry for us, hm?”

Zagreus continues to fondle Achilles’ thighs, letting the oil spread over his gilded skin and absorb slowly. He digs his fingers into the meat of them when Achilles does not respond right away, just when Patroclus repeats his question.

“So good,” confesses Achilles. Patroclus feeds another finger into him, this time using scissoring motions to stretch his taut muscle from within. “ _Ah!_ But, mm, I want… I need…”

“Shh, now. Calm,” Patroclus says. He coaxes Achilles with praises, easing his pinched brows into an expression of ecstasy as he thrusts his two fingers to the knuckle and crooks them just right.

Achilles’ back arches then, his blond hair strewn across his shoulders. He chokes on a wail as Patroclus finally adds a third finger inside, creating a rhythm that Zagreus tries to memorize so he may use it when it is his turn to give Achilles pleasure. Achilles’ hips begin to rock back and forth on Patroclus’ fingers, toes curling in delight.

Zagreus cannot help but succumb to the primal urge goading him any longer; his tongue unravels and seeks Achilles’ entrance, lapping around it and Patroclus’ thick fingers. It tastes sharp and bitter from the oil. However, all is forgotten when Achilles lets out what can only be described as a shriek, hands balling into fists upon the grass and inlaid stone. He squirms against Zagreus’ lapping tongue, groaning when Patroclus opens him up further, allowing Zagreus to dip the end of his tongue into him. 

“No more, no more,” he beseeches them. “By the gods, no more. I need you now, sirs.”

“Didn’t you say that I could be teasing you instead when I first arrived, love?” Zagreus pulls away to jest, which only earns him a frustrated huff from Achilles. He turns to Patroclus, just to rile their lover more. “Should we indulge him, Patroclus?”

The man grins back at him, very aware of what he is doing. He replies, “Perhaps, my prince. If he behaves.” He removes his fingers from Achilles, leaving the warrior empty and wanting.

Achilles keens, high and distressed. He pushes his ass back in a nonverbal command for his partners to stop dawdling around and start giving him what he wants. He draws sultry figure-eights in the air like a bizarre, instinctual mating dance that has both his partner’s attention on him. 

With that, Zagreus can only hold out for so long. He shoves the waistband of his leggings downwards, kicking them off as fast as he possibly can without ripping them. He does not care that his oiled hands stain the crimson fabric, or when his decorative equipment on his waist and shoulder go crashing to the ground. Patroclus helps him with his chiton, leaving brief kisses along his shoulders as he undresses his lover.

“Sirs,” Achilles pleads again, impatient, and Zagreus can see the high flush that adorns the apples of his cheeks. “Quickly.”

“You heard him, prince.” Patroclus pecks Zagreus’ lips before shuffling on his knees to place himself at Achilles’ front. “Give our Achilles what he craves.”

“Of course,” Zagreus and Achilles both hiss as the Underworld prince lines himself up with Achilles’ puckered hole. He is so hot against the head of Zagreus’ cock; the prince cannot even fathom how good Achilles will feel around him when he finally enters.

He does not have to, though, because Achilles is pushing back, and Zagreus slides into him without a sliver of hesitation.

Zagreus bites down on the inside of his cheek, a growl bubbling deep within his sternum. Achilles is tight. He is tight like a vice, yet still trying to draw Zagreus to the hilt, swallow him to the balls. Zagreus attempts not to let that thought get to him, or he might come immediately. Achilles feels like velvet, like inside is where Zagreus belongs, and he cannot help but plunge himself in until he is enveloped to the base of his cock.

“Go ahead and move, Zagreus. He looks ready.” Patroclus cups Achilles’ chin to get a better look at their lover.

So, Zagreus does. Zagreus withdraws until only the tip of his member is lodged within Achilles, pauses for just a second, and drives back in with all his might, balls snapping against Achilles’ ass. Achilles screams, Zagreus’ name half-formed on his tongue, but it fizzles out into incoherent vowels of euphoria.

“Hold him by the hips, Zagreus. He loves it when you leave bruises there.” Pat suggests, and the prince has no choice but to follow instruction.

“Deeper..!” He is breathless as he barely manages to talk, “Ah! Good! More.” His words slur and slosh together as Zagreus fucks Achilles how he is told to.

In, and out, and in again. Zagreus grabs him by the pelvis in a bone crushing grip, relishing the action, as it is sure to leave behind a silhouette of bruises where his hands are. Achilles clenches around him, meeting every thrust halfway. His moans increase in volume as Zagreus piledrives into him.

“Cant him up a bit more. Like that. Good.” Patroclus observes the way Achilles responds to Zagreus, tenting his armor with his solid erection.

It does not go unnoticed; Achilles is quick to wrap his hands around the back of Patroclus’ thighs, his mouth gaping around a deep sound of gratification. He moans raggedly when Patroclus moves his pteruges out of the way, tucking them haphazardly in the hem. He braces his stance in front of Achilles, forcing him to wait, making him yowl as Zagreus pounds into him the way he wants. Just when Zagreus hears Achilles burst into a sob, Patroclus loosens his loincloth, letting it flutter to the floor, and slaps Achilles over the cheek with his hard length. Achilles stares up at him, shellshocked. 

“My dear Achilles,” Patroclus chuckles. He smears the domed head of his cock over his partner’s mouth. Patroclus pinches Achilles’ jaw with his middle finger and thumb until he parts his soft lips.

“Open up for him, love,” Zagreus tells him.

Achilles lets Patroclus manipulate his lower lip, clutching the earth beneath his fingers as Patroclus feeds him his member. Patroclus throws back his head as Achilles sucks around his girth, nose burying itself into the dark ringlets at his groin, a hand tightening almost painfully in Achilles’ sun-like hair. He uses that as leverage to drag the warrior up and down his cock; shushes Achilles softly when he chokes on him, his voice garbled as Zagreus slams into him particularly hard.

With renewed vigor, Achilles hollows his cheeks around Patroclus, inhaling through his nose the best he can as Patroclus rides his throat. His lathes over the underside of his cock, bringing forth Pat’s voice, which has gone gruff and heady as he rasps sweet praises that would have Achilles keening if his mouth were not so preoccupied.

They continue like this, the constant push and pull of their bodies like waves that ebb and flow upon a shore. The cacophony of skin colliding with skin echoes through the Elysian chamber, complementing the unadulterated gasps and moans that are wrung from the all three lovers. Zagreus feels as if he is completely on fire. His vision tunnels like black smoke blinding his peripherals; he can only focus on Achilles and Patroclus in front of him. His trachea stings as if he is breathing in the fumes of molten Asphodel magma. Everything in his body aches, but he refuses to stop; riding on each wave of pleasure that Achilles brings him.

He is not going to last much longer.

Zagreus shoves their hips together, reaching for Achilles’ angry, abandoned cock that swings between his thighs with each thrust.

“Mmngh!” Achilles weeps around Patroclus’ thick girth, bucking into Zagreus’ hand.

The prince strokes him to the speed of his hips. He folds himself over Achilles’ back, sweat creating slip between them as Zagreus buries his cock within him. His teeth find purchase at Achilles’ left shoulder, digging into his deltoid hard enough to break skin. Zagreus’ tongue flits across it until the wound stops bleeding, the iron-like tinge heavy on his taste buds.

Patroclus leaves Achilles’ mouth then, taking notice when brackish streams of tears stain his pinkened face. Achilles coughs on his own spit, copious amounts dripping from his maw and onto the green grass below.

He nudges at Achilles’ chest until the man hefts Achilles upright. Zagreus follows suit, unable to do anything but use Achilles as leverage as he plunges repeatedly into him. He lets Achilles fall into Pat’s arms. Patroclus is in a daze, watching them, telling them how absolutely marvelous they both look.

“Oh, dear,” Patroclus murmurs, capturing Achilles in a sloppy kiss. He thumbs the teardrops away before more spill past his chin. “You are so beautiful, Achilles.”

His fist curls around his cock then, pumping it in time with Zagreus and Achilles as they writhe together. All three of them inch towards completion; Zagreus can feel the tension, stifling in the air. His hand on Achilles’ weeping length becomes a blur as he works him harder, his forearm bumping the man’s flank. He feels how his abdomen has gone rigid, muscles suddenly snapping taut when Achilles shouts his release.

Achilles howls wantonly, thick ropes of pearly cum spurting over Zagreus’ knuckles. It covers his belly, dripping to the ground. His head falls into the dip of Patroclus’ neck as he collapses, sandwiched between his lovers. He hiccups as he trembles, dissolving to complete ecstasy. Both Patroclus and Zagreus hold him up, keep him secure, inside and out, until he is able to catch his breath. It is only when it is apparent his brain kicks back into gear that Zagreus inquires, “Are you all right?”

The warrior rolls his head until he can see Zagreus’ gemstone eyes, nodding languidly. “More than, sir. You are so good. Both of you are so good, sirs.”

“Then it is okay for us to keep going, Achilles?” Patroclus is the one to speak next. He caresses Achilles’ side softly.

Achilles rasps, hoarse from his ululations and Patroclus’ cock just moments before, “More than okay.” Then louder, “Find your purchase, sirs. Use me if you have to. I want it.”

“Fuck..!” Zagreus curses as he snaps his hips into Achilles once again.

He smears his sullied hand on Patroclus’ silken skin as he gropes for his rock hard member, urging them towards the brink of orgasm. Zagreus finds the man’s lips, capturing them over Achilles’ sculpted shoulders as they keep their beloved caged between their persons. They seek each other out, licking over blunt teeth and soft flesh; their bodies never leaving Achilles. No words need to be spoken now; what they have between one another is enough to do the talking. Every touch, every inspiration and expiration, every kiss, everything fills their loins a little more with the promise of gratification. Zagreus glues himself to Achilles’ back as he rams himself inside him one last time.

Like a bolt of lightning struck, Zagreus’ breath is stolen from his chest when his orgasm hits. He is engulfed in what feels like shockwaves of elation. He cannot think of anything as multicolored explosions burst behind his eyelids, blurring his vision as he comes and comes. His ears ring in ecstasy, unable to hear anything but Patroclus’ roar as he paints Achilles’ abdomen with his seed, teeth clacking painfully with Zagreus’ when he bares his teeth in rapture. Achilles cries in his tender voice as Zagreus fills him up, cum leaking down his thighs and making a wreck of the prince’s own.

It seems like an eternity before Patroclus ushers the three of them to their sides. Zagreus slips out of Achilles with a grunt, unwilling to unstick himself from the man even when his cock begins to soften. He embraces him from behind, forearm curled around Achilles’ trim waist. Patroclus interlaces their fingers there, his nose nuzzling at Achilles’ forehead. They stay like this, unmoving even as Achilles continues to whimper, his ocean-hued eyes still wet and hazy.

“My Achilles,” Patroclus whispers fondly.

“Our Achilles,” Zagreus mutters into Achilles’ sweat dampened hair. He smiles sheepishly as he confesses, “I think I’m falling in love with you all over again.” He does not pause when Achilles freezes for a second. “Every new part of you I discover… every side of your personality, your ways and your qualities; the little things I learn about you are perfect.”

“No, I—” Achilles tries to protest, but Patroclus shushes him gently.

“Listen to Zagreus, love.” Patroclus croons, “I bet that he has not finished his piece yet.”

Achilles opens his jaw, as if to say something, then shuts it.

“I love you,” Zagreus proclaims. There is no waver in his voice, no wobble in his confidence. What he feels is true, and he hopes the expression in his words says as such. “I fall in love with you every time I see you. Every day I am by your side, and Patroclus’, I love you two even more deeply each time.” He says, “I love you, Achilles. I love you and Patroclus both.”

“Zagreus…” Achilles calls his name, laced with a myriad of emotions, though his tears have stopped. Patroclus and Zagreus put their hands over Achilles’, reflecting the same position they lay in esplanades of Elysium. Zagreus drags his thumb across his partners’ wrists. “I love you, too.”

“We both do,” Patroclus adds. He kisses Achilles chastely. “Won’t you pass that along to the prince, my heart?”

“Of course.” Achilles cranes his neck to deliver his kiss to Zagreus, who receives it easily. He shifts a bit on the grass before he winces at the dark bruises forming on his hips.

“Was it too much?” Zagreus asks, worried that he had gone too far.

“No,” Achilles quells his worry with a chuckle. “No, sir. It was just right.”

Zagreus notices how rich and warm Achilles' teasing chortle is, and his heart flutters behind his ribs, falling in love one more time.

**Author's Note:**

> Have you kissed your Achilles today? (If not, you better get on it.)
> 
> Find me on [twit](https://twitter.com/ra9ical/), where I bawl over the Iliad and occasionally draw fanart.


End file.
